


Interlude in Eventide

by fuckmeyer (garbanzosoprese)



Series: In the Afterlight [2]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: BAMF Bella Swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28974930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbanzosoprese/pseuds/fuckmeyer
Summary: A 3-shot set between the events ofTwilightandNew Moon. Jacob struggles with a choice. Bells finds her footing in a new world. Edward dreams for the first time.Companion fic/sequel toIn the Afterlight. (Mostly Twilight-canon compliant; you won't be totally lost.)
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Series: In the Afterlight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806790
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Interlude in Eventide

Groaning metal squeals.

Jake fumbles his math book, snapping out of a daydream and facing a page full of questions. Across from him, Quil’s wiping black grease off his hands onto a stained red rag, unphased by the grumbling engine. From out the cobweb-stained window behind Quil’s head, a poppy-red truck bed peeks into view.

“You good, dude?” asks Embry.

“Yeah,” says Jake, rising and setting his math book on his seat. As he approaches the threshold of the open garage, Quil and Embry follow Jacob’s line of sight. 

“Well well well,” says Quil, ginning at the young woman killing the engine. “So Jakey decided to pull an Embry Call on us and invite his special friend, huh?”

Embry’s deadly glare goes unnoticed. Meanwhile, Jake’s peeking out the garage door, mumbling, “Family friend.” The lines between his brow creases, deepens.

Bella—Bells—stumbles out of the banged-up cab with a big, black boot, auburn hair tumbling over her shoulder.

Whatever joke Quil’s got teed up for Jake, he can’t get it out before Embry huffs, “Seriously dude, how many times are you gonna bring that up?” into his math book.

“As many times as it takes, hombre. You bailed on us.”

While Embry fires back a retort, Jake jogs into the misty, scuzzy day to greet Bells. Her truck—The Thing, she called it—had its cab scratched to all hell and a few places where the sun his awkwardly off the dents warping the metal. Her left hand runs over one of the dents in the truckbed, chewing on her lip.

Crunching gravel catches her attention; she looks up at Jake before she can stop herself.

“Sup dude! You know the barbecue isn’t til next—"

Jake halts several feet away.

Her eyes are red. Bloodshot and puffy from crying, by the looks of it.

But even beyond that, she looks—different. Longer hair? Makeup? Older? Or is she just—prettier?

The words tumble out of his mouth. “Oh. Hey,” he says, “dude, what—hi.”

Bells eyeballs practically swim in tears, but they never spill over. She smiles, but she looks everywhere but at him. “H— Hm.” She speaks with a stuffy nose and a throat crackly from crying. “Uh. Hi. Sorry. —God, haha, I’m so sorry.” She tries to laugh-sob some joke into reality. Bells catches a spilled tear with the back of her hand before it could stain her cheeks. Jake doesn’t know where to look for the humor. “Hi, Jake.”

“Dude, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?”

“I’m good. Just, I’m crying about—regular—things.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Bells swallows a crisp gulp of air, breathing. _Jake’s house always smells like rain._ “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m good, just—”

“Aw c’mon.”

“You c’mon,” she says, a choked laugh bubbling out of her. Tears fall, but at least she can keep a small smile. “Ugh. I said I was gonna just—” She closes her eyes and takes one deep breath. The smile fades. “Be cool. I’m not supposed to be crying right now. That was—unintended.”

Okay, Jake can’t help but laugh at the sheepishness of that last sentence—and besides that, that Bells is decidedly _not cool_. “Uh. You’re doing well so far.” When Bells gives her first real, raw laugh, Jake can practically feel Quil and Embry’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. He nods to her cast. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Bells glances back at the truck, then tosses him one of those sad smiles, the kind people show when they wanna be in a good mood but can’t but try anyway. She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Accident. My boyfriend’s sister tried to get out all the dents out. Um. Sorry.” She gives him a sheepish look.

“It’s your truck, I mean—” Jake snorts. “Screw the truck. Are you okay?”

She smirks, clears her throat again. It sounds stronger now. “Yeah. Cast comes off next week. Uh, but, actually, I'm here cuz I was wondering if maybe Billy's around. H-He said he might be here. Now.”

Honestly, Jake had come straight from a five-mile run to the garage for his study sesh for finals; who knows where the hell Dad is. —Speaking of running, lord, does he smell? Is it appropriate to check? What if Bells thinks he just smells this way _all the time?_

He takes a step back. “Dad, he’s been kinda…” Busy. Angry. Ranting on the phone about stuff Jake knew nothing about, _Cullen_ and _treaty_ and whatever other nonsense. Not that that involved Bells—but local politics stuff tended to put Billy in a bad mood these days.

“I just, I gotta see if he’s home,” she mutters, clearing her throat. She hobbles towards the house. Jake trails her, checking his pits for sweaty teen boy smell before jogging to catch up with her.

“Yeah, actually, he might not—"Just as she trips, he lunges to steady her, slides, and stumbles himself.

An icy hand grabs him by the arm just as he reaches out to keep her from falling. “Damn. Close call,” he says. When Bells nods and pulls her hand away, the smooth, warped skin of scar tissue catches his eye. It’s all down her hand, her wrist—

He tore his attention away, grimacing. _Must have been one nasty wreck._

And looking back, yeah, Bells’ mechanic seems to have replaced most of the glass in The Thing. Metal looks intact; must've been the glass. _Ouch._

Bells, watching him, says, “Thanks” loud enough to bring him back to the conversation.

He grins at her. His eyes flit to her left hand, but it’s been stuffed her coat pocket.

She’s still watching him, no smile now.

“Yeah, dude. Can’t have you suing the joint if you fall.” Bells snorts at that. “Seriously, you wanna tell me what’s up? I dunno if Dad’s here; he might still be on the phone. Maybe I could help you?”

Bells rubs the back of her neck with a hand. “Yeah. Um. It’s nothing, honestly, it’s just—” She hesitates. “You know how sometimes you get yourself into situations where—” She chews the inside of her lip to stop the words from coming out. Starts again. “You know how sometimes everything just kinda—hits you? Like you realize, holy shit, like, this is your life now—or, or maybe this has always been your life and you just don’t— and you— and you have no idea where to go? Or what to do? Because it’s all so…unfamiliar?”

 _College._ Jake’s lips twist in a painful sympathy, nodding. College. He says the word fifty billion times a day, college exams, college degree, D1-college scholarship. College. The place where’s he got to sit for four years in _another_ classroom while Billy counts his quarters.

Talk about not knowing where to go.

“Yeah. Well. There’s something—” Bells goes on, but her face blanches “—that’s sorta weighing on me, and I—” Bells stops at the crumbling set of stairs leading into the house. Jake hasn’t finished building the ramp for this exit and he curses himself under his breath for procrastinating. “Anyway, that’s not relevant to you, or, or Billy. I’m just here for an…outside opinion. An expert. On stuff.”

“So suddenly the old man's an expert, huh?” Jake jokes, and Bells smiles. “Coulda fooled me.” He leaps onto the stairs and bangs on the side door, shouting, “Dad! It’s Bells! Bella!”

And he offers a hand out to her.

Bells startles from the gesture, then curses herself for being caught-off guard again by a nice, simple gesture. It disarms her every time, that people just—do nice things for each other. She gives him her right hand. “Thanks. —Damn, you’re warm.” She says it like it’s a marvel.

That throws him. “Uh. Yeah. Probably cuz I just got back from a run. Sorry if I smell, by the way.”

Bells smriks. “I’m over here tottering around at zero miles-per-hour and meanwhile, Mr. Junior Olympics over here—”

“Stop—”

“Mr. High School Record-Breaker—"

“ _Stop_ ,” he laughs. “Screw high school, anyway; you’re already done with school, dude!”

Billy rolls to the door—by the look on his face, Jake knows he’s about to crack some joke at his expense. But then Billy’s eyes finds Bells’ face, sees the boot on her leg.

And his face falls.

And the joy dissipates from the air.

“Bella.” He and Jake exchange a look. “Bells. Charlie here, too?” he asks, craning his neck.

Bells shook her head. “No. He’s out on the beat, or whatever police say, I don’t, uh— He’s on that missing person’s case.” Billy’s brows bob. “Can we—?” Bells’ eyes dart in Jake’s direction. “I want to talk to you about something. About—y’know, things relating to—a certain third party.”

Billy’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Hm.”

“Not bad,” she says, blushing. “Just—I need to—I need—advice.”

Whatever Billy “thinks” the conversation is about, it’s not good. Judging by the way the skin of his cheeks sinks, the sparkles empty from his eyes, he’s not looking forward to giving whatever advice Bells wants.

And judging by the deep, painful-looking creases between her brows, Bells knows the same.

Jake mirrors the pain of his loved ones but has no idea what it could be about. Maybe Bells needs advice about Charlie? What’s so bad that’s got _Billy_ concerned?

Billy opens the door for Bells. “C’mere,” he murmurs in that comforting way that reminds Jake of winters from his childhood, low murmuring, Mom’s sweet apple cider— “Let’s you and I have a talk.”

Jake holds the door open for Bells. After she slips inside, he files in behind her to go grab a drink for himself and, hell, maybe even a Dr. Pepper for Quil (even though Quil’s technically trying to quit), just so he can linger and catch scraps of their conversation.

But Billy’s gleaming wheels remain resolute at the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Kitchen.” Jake starts for it, but Billy’s squeaking chair rolls and stops right in front of Jake’s big toe, a skill the old man has mastered over the years.

“ _Kíka_ ,” he said. “This conversation is not for you to hear.”

That command stops Jake at the threshold. He opens his mouth to argue, but his father’s stern face erases any hint of putting up with any teenage boy’s backtalk. Dad says something else in Quillayute, something sharper, but to be honest, Jake has no idea what the hell the old man is talking about with that one; it’s too fast and too low to grasp.

"I mean it," Billy finishes.

It must’ve been something important, anyway. “’Kay,” Jake mumbles, looking down.

The door slams shut in his face.

Even jogging down the steps, Jake pumps his arms like he’s running a 10k— _seven more seconds to shave off your time_ —until he slows in view of the living room window.

Bells is seated at the edge of the couch clutching at a scrap of cloth in her hands. Crumpling, uncrumpling, picking at it. Meanwhile, Billy sits in his wheelchair in front of her. Leaning in. Frowning.

Something’s going on.

Quil throws an arm around Jake’s shoulder and follows his line of sight. “Can’t just stare at your girlfriend all day, there, buddy. Real serious business to attend to, here.”

Jake’s face erupts in a blush, but he can’t help a grin crossing his face. Pushing Quil away, he shuffles back to the garage where Embry sits in the same position on a torn clamshell chair, popping Mentos over his textbook like it’s Adderall.

“We’ve been stuck on 13b since you left,” he tells Jake with a mouthful of minty candy; the air of seriousness hadn’t left him since Bells interrupted the study sesh. Jake swipes his textbook off his seat and drops it in his lap. The coffee table cracks underneath him, warped beyond repair from years in the humid garage.

“ _Derivative of tan(x)_?” Jake’s face screws up in pain. “But really though, what the hell am I ever gonna need a derivative for?”

“I said the same thing,” grumbles Quil. He drops a box of tools at his feet before he crashes back onto the ripped vinyl of the ottoman.

Embry shoots the box of tools an annoyed glance but says nothing, even when Quil noisily rummages through them to pull out a wrench. “Guys, derivatives are for risk assessment. Or speculation. Like it’s how you stabilize the economy.”

“Oh, that so, huh?” says Quil, a wolfish grin crossing his face. “Did Miss Rachel Reed the Econ Queen give you the scoop on that one when she was suckin you off yesterday?”

Jake throws his head back to howl a laugh. Rag at the ready, Quil whaps Embry in the face with it as soon as Embry springs to punch him.

“She wasn’t— At least I know what a derivative is,” Embry snaps, falling back into his seat. “And I’ll have you know it’s a mostly professional relationship.”

Quil flashes a cocky smile. “C’mon dude, don’t leave yourself open for jokes like that.” He laughs.

Embry mock-laughs with him. “The real joke is you chucklefucks thinking you’re gonna graduate early with me. Yeah. You guys laugh and laugh about how you got all the time in the world and now—”

“ _Supersonic Embry Lecture, hu-ah_!”

“—you’re pulling two-hour study days just to keep up. Go ahead, make fun. You’re all talk.”

“Whoa, hold up, don’t lump me in with the clown,” says Jake, gesturing with his head towards Quil, who picks at a glob of grease on the wrench with his cloth. “Look at me, I came straight from practice to be here.”

“Yeah, we know,” Quil quips, not looking up. “We could smell you coming from a mile away.”

 _Dammit,_ Jake thinks, sniffing an armpit, _I knew it._ His eyes dart out of the cracked, cobweb-stained window. Had they moved?

“I know _you’re_ serious,” says Embry to Jake. “Quil over here—”

“What, just cuz I don’t wanna go to college, all the sudden I’m not serious?”

Jake gets up to wipe the grime off the window while they talk.

“Fuck off with the victimhood, Quil, you talk shit about us being 'future broke-ass pencil-pushers' every _day_.”

“That’s cuz you are,” said Quil. Embry and Jacob both roll their eyes. “What? Just saying. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t graduate early.”

“No, but—”

“Y’know, _Sam’s_ not going to college.” Quil points the wrench at Embry, raising his brows as if he’s actually got a point. “And that’s a dude that knows what’s what.”

Jake, brushing his grimed-up sleeve on his track shorts, peers out the cleaned window. In the living room windows, Billy rummages through a curio cabinet, passes an object to Bells. A flash of silver. Or gleaming metal?

“Yes he _is_ going to college, dude.” Embry rolls his eyes, jotting an answer down in his notebook. “He and Leah are going to Washington State. Gonna get married right there on campus, knowing them.”

At her name, Jake turns away from the window. His heart pounds like he’s just broken the tape at the finish line.

And it sinks. Like it always does when Jake remembers that Leah is— always has been—taken. By Sam. Dating, all through high school, and now—

“No he’s not. Paul told me that Sam told him that he’s staying back in La Push.”

Jake perked. “For real?”

“Yeah, helping the elders with…I dunno, whatever,” said Quil, back to picking at grease.

“Like Quileute council?”

“Well, not, like, the _official_ council, I guess. Just a small council. Separate council. Side work. Important stuff, you know, like for the culture,” he says, slight defensiveness lacing his words. “I could do that if I work at the shop. So. That’s another thing.”

“What about Leah?”

“What about her? Obviously _Leah Clearwater_ is still going to school. They’ll probably break up, I dunno.”

“Or long-distance,” says Embry.

“Eh. Paul says Sam thinks nah.” Jake has to breathe even to keep his heart from careening out of his chest. “Point is, Sam’s smart enough not to go to college. Waste of money as it is.”

Jake waves Quil away. “Look, dude, no one’s judging you just cuz you’re not going to college. Embry’s just being Embry.”

Embry says, “You guys _specifically told me_ you wanted to graduate—"

But Jake continues over him. “I dunno if I’m going to college either. Expensive." The spoken reality makes his stomach hurt. “But if we graduate early we can still all graduate together. Plus, you and I start working at the shop in June—I mean, by January we could be apprentice mechanics, full-time. I’d skip out on school for that.”

Quil rolls his eyes at Jake. “Yeah, _okay_ Señor Cross-Country Stud. Like D1 scouts aren’t already sucking the shit outta your ass. Lemme know when you tell your dad you’re gonna skip the scholarship to come work at the shop—I wanna see the look on his face.”

Jake takes another glance to the house. Shabby. Shoddy. It’ll need new siding soon, probably. And the ramp will have to be built. Neither of which Billy could afford, much less get done without a contractor. He huffs. “Well, it’s full-ride or nothing, boys. So. Fuck me I guess.”

Because Rachel still has two years yet to pay for, two _years_ until she can start sending money back home _._ No way in hell could Billy bankroll two college students. FAFSA be damned.

For the last time, his eyes leave the smudged window to his textbook, just when he sees movement in the house in his peripheral, Billy pulling the curtains. _Derivatives. Derivatives._ _Just gonna get out early, get my degree ASAP, then get out. Done._

Silence overtakes the conversation for several minutes, punctuated only by the scraping of pencils.

“I am gonna graduate early,” Quil says after too much time has passed, dropping the wrench back into the box and picking up a torque wrench.

Embry smirks. “You gonna do that by polishing your tools?”

Metal clatters against metal. “Listen, fuckhead, I’m getting in the zone.”

“AutoZone.”

Jakes breaks down into snickers as Embry whoops with laughter. Quil tries to shout over the noise. “Laugh it up, dicks. We’ll see who’s tee-heeing when I’m making twenny bucks an hour outta high school.”

“You gotta get outta high school first,” says Embry, grinning.

“Maybe I should call your girl up and ask if she’s available to tutor me.”

“Hey, suck my dick, I’ll tutor you all night—”

Embry breaks his own sentence off with a blush and a horrified expression just as Quil snaps, “You wanna be like that? That’s how it is? Fine. Whatever. I’ll study. I’m studying.” The tools clank together. Quil slams the toolbox shut and rips open his textbook. Reads. About derivatives. And things.

And Embry, still glowing from the heat in his cheeks, goes back to his textbook and thinks about derivatives.

And. Derivative-like things. Like…different derivatives.

None of them are thinking about derivatives.

“Anyone else want a Dr. Pepper?” Quil smacks Jake on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Jakey? Be a good pal?”

“No.”

“Phenomenal host?”

" _Quil_." Jake opens his mouth to snark back with something like _Get it your goddamn self._

But it _would_ give him an excuse to go back to the house.

“Dude, you quit, remember?” says Embry.

“Maybe the caffeine will help me focus.”

“Maybe it’ll turn you into an annoying prick. —Oh wait.”

Embry and Quil snap at each other while Jake rises, long hair swaying with his movements. “I’ll get your damn drink,” he mumbles, but his mind is somewhere else. Quil and Embry’s minds are, too, because they don’t even hear him over the sounds of their own insults. Jake steps through the guys just as they’re tangling into a fight and walks out of the garage.

Bells and Dad aren’t in the living room anymore; they've moved to the threshold of the room. Dad makes passionate gestures with his hands; Bells nods, eyes pinned to the floor.

Jake takes the long route to get to the door to try and avoid making eye contact through the window. Once he gets to the steps, Bells' attention snaps back to Billy's face, an angry expression clouding her eyes. Jake freezes in place. His heart pounds. Muffled voices on the other side crescendo.

“I am safe,” says Bells from the other side of the door, jolting Jake with the loudness of her voice. “—just that before—”

“There is no ‘safe’ with him. Never will be. —understand that.”

“You don’t even— I’m not” mumble “without him!” Bells’ voice, scratched, strangles itself.

In a sea of unintelligible sounds, Jacob picks out only one more word. It makes his heart sink. It makes his stomach turn.

“Caitlin,” she pleads before her voice breaks back down into unheard words.

Jake swallows. He’s dying to peek through the window, to get a glance at the old man’s face. Dad never, ever talks about Caitlin. He talks about _Mom_ more than he talks about Caitlin.

“We'll figure something—” The rest of his sentence is muted. “Next week. Harry can help.” Billy’s still talking, but Jake can hear the groan of his wheels as he inches closer to the door.

Jake launches himself off the steps and sprints back near the garage. Make it seem like he’s stepping out for some air when the door swings open. Casual. Cool.

One moment later and there’s Bells, hobbling back out on the stoop, strands of air swirling around her head from the wind. She’s still talking to Billy, gesturing out some cross between arguing and pleading.

An elbow hooks around Jake’s neck. “She’s no Leah Clearwater, but she’s pretty hot for a white girl,” says Quil in his ear.

Jake’s heart flutters at Leah’s name. “Shut the fuck up, dude,” says Jake, palming Quil’s face and pushing him away. As he jogs back to the house, Bells walks down the steps like her cast is more of a fashion choice than a necessity.

Jake, with a toothy grin, offers his arm and his suavest, most gentlemanly, “ _Madame_?”

This time, Bells only glances at it. “I can walk,” she mumbles, cold.

“Oh. You’re good? Like, without crutches?”

“I don't— Crutches are worthless. And fuck the leg, honestly. It’s all just for show at this point.” She ends her last sentence like it’s some cruel joke between the two of them. When she peeks a glance at the bewilderment flickering across Jake’s face, she softens and adds, “Thank you. Sorry. I don’t need help. Thanks.”

“You okay?” Jake asks her as they walk to the truck. Any annoyance she may have had drains out of her expression. “I mean, I’m sorry if Dad was in a bad mood or—”

“Nah,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s me. He’s been helpful.”

“Give you good advice?”

She smiles a real smile. _He pushes like I do. God, Edward would hate him._ “Yes,” she says. “Thanks. I’ve just been having a hard time—adjusting. To—Forks. Et cetera.” Beat. “Billy thinks I should pick up a hobby. Help relieve stress. Learn new things.”

Jake cackles. “So what, you’re gonna start fishing now? Watch some baseball?”

“Good joke,” she says, and the somber shadow falls back into her expression. “No, I’m—going to take up hunting.”

"Right. _That's_ a good joke." Jake laughs and Bells smiles with him, but her sobriety pauses his smile. “Wait, are you joking? You are, right?”

“Nope.” Bells flings the driver-side door open; the truck protests with a squeal. She grips the arm to help herself up, stealing a look back at the house. Stares over the top of the truck. “No. I think it’s about time I get a hobby. Plus, it’s something to do with Charlie, something we used to do together, y’know, back in the day. So.” Looks down. “Yeah. Billy was helpful. And honest. —Anyway." She raps her knuckles on the truck frame; Jake's breath catches in his throat— _the scars_. "I’ll see you soon, then, huh Jake?”

He fumbles his response: “Yeah, cool, yeah,” he says as the door slams. "Yeah. See ya, Bells."

But once the shock of seeing her mangled hand fades away, the good news breaks him into a grin.

Actually, that would work out well. If Bells is serious about going hunting with the boys, Jake and Bells could be on a team alone, instead of Jake having to be stuck hunting with Harry and Charlie, listening to stories of the “good ole boys.” Maybe the Saturday morning hikes wouldn't be such a pain in the ass.

Once Bells’ Thing roars to life and rumbles away, Jake turns back to the house, following her line of sight.

The grin he wears falls away.

Billy still watches her from the side door. Even behind the glass, behind the screen, Jake sees Billy’s mouth sagging at the corners, dark eyes gaping wide. Unblinking.

He looks as though he’s just seen a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> we're back :)  
> & the move went well!!! yes!!!!! 2021, here we come  
> anyway, here's a short lil 3-shot for you guys between In the Afterlight and its upcoming sequel. third-person present creates such lilting, gorgeous storytelling, and i love the way present-tense verbs, so we're gonna just try something a lil different here :) the sequel will, ofc, follow bells  
> if you end up not liking this, it won't be super critical, so no worries
> 
> i'll be going over all my comments from my last fic and replying to y'all - thanks so much for everyone who left feedback! very much appreciated!


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